My criticisms of Next to Normal were initially based on the quality of the show as well as its ostensible anti-psychiatry message. Between the show's Off Broadway and Broadway stints, the show's artistic execution has vastly improved, and the apparent message has been toned down considerably. But more on that later.

Coincidentally, the day of the Pulitzer announcement, I had been talking in my musical-theater history class about how no musical that has ever won the Pulitzer has genuinely deserved it. (The eight musicals that have won the award are Of Thee I Sing, South
Pacific, Fiorello, How
to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, A Chorus Line, Sunday in
the Park With George, Rent, and now Next to Normal.) I don't necessarily agree with that statement, but I often use it as a provocative proposition to start a discussion about awards and their relative worth. (For the record, I think that, if any of these musicals genuinely deserved the Pulitzer, it was Sunday in the Park With George.)

After N2N won the Pulitzer, there was a lot of moaning and hand-wringing about the selection process, and how the Pulitzer board members chose to ignore the recommendations of the nominating jury. Well, according to the Pulitzer rules, they're perfectly free to do, so that part didn't really bother me. I figure the board is free to choose as it sees fit. I did have to raise my eyebrows at the revelation that a significant number of the Pulitzer voters had seen Next to Normal the night before the voting. Why is that a problem? Well, N2N is a heart-wrenching show, and it strikes me that the voters may have been responding on a knee-jerk, emotional basis rather than from a considered, analytical viewpoint.

In contrast to the Pulitzer voters, I wanted to take my time in formulating my response to the Next to Normal win, which is why I've waited this long to post about the topic. In short, I don't think the show deserved the award, but that view is not based on the inherent quality of the show. I think it's a very well-crafted show, with a strong score and an affecting story.

No, my objection remains with the show's romanticizing mental illness (witness the song "I Miss the Mountains") and its implicit rejection of psychiatry. The show's main female character, portrayed very affectingly by Tony-Award winner Alice
Ripley, suffers from bipolar
disorder, and throughout the course of the show undergoes a number of treatment modalities, including talk therapy, drug therapy, and ECT (electroconvulsive
therapy). At the end of the show, she rejects all of the above and decides to go it alone. I took great exception to this apparent repudiation of psychiatry, and said so in very strong terms in my initial review. Librettist/lyricist Brian
Yorkey contacted me in a series of vitriolic emails, which at first I did not respond to. When his tone became more measured and collegial, I answered back, and he and I engaged in a productive dialog about his right to craft a show that says whatever he wants it to.

Now, is the show condoning Diana's actions or merely portraying them? Yorkey has never specified to me. Are people free to reject all forms of therapeutic intervention? Absolutely, but that doesn't mean I have to agree with it, or stay silent about it. In my experience, there are far too many people who eschew treatment for mental illness based on the archaic and dangerous notion that they should be able to just pull themselves up by the bootstraps. Psychiatric disorders are genuine medical conditions, not imaginary constructs. A diabetic cannot through force of will regulate his own insulin levels. Likewise, the power of positive thinking isn't going to help someone with bipolar disorder regulate the amounts of serotonin and dopamine that are available in her synapses.

Is it possible for a show to be worthy of a Pulitzer Prize yet still espouse a viewpoint that I find questionable at best, dangerous at worst? Well, that's free speech for ya. At the very least, Next to Normal provides the opportunity to create some dialog about the topic of mental illness. And, again, it's a very strong show artistically, and one that audiences seem to have genuinely responded to, based on the fact that the Broadway production, defying all odds and predictions, recently recouped its $4-million investment. And the show will launch its national tour in November. I encourage all my readers to see the show, whether on Broadway or on tour, and decide for themselves. All I ask is that you view the show with both an open mind and a skeptical eye.

April 26, 2010

I've never been much of a fan of Promises,
Promises, a revival of which opened last night at the Broadway Theatre. But I have to say I was intrigued and enticed by what at first seemed like shrewd semi-star casting: Kristin Chenoweth and Sean Hayes in the starring roles. Add in B-list hottie Tony Goldwyn in a significant supporting part, and I was one intrigued little theater blogger, let me tell you. Unfortunately, the Broadway production that I was most eagerly anticipating this spring has become the one I'm mostly likely to forget.

Except, that is, for the marvelous Katie Finneran, a Tony Award winner for Noises Off, and hopefully a repeat winner this year for her hysterical work here as the minor character Marge MacDougall. When Fineran comes on stage at the top of Act 2, suddenly this otherwise earthbound show takes momentary wing. When Finneran disappears shortly thereafter, the show returns to its desultory self.

The frequently marvelous Ms. Chenoweth is here sorely miscast. It really makes you wonder: Did she, or any of her people, actually read the script before they signed her on? Because Fran Kubelik, at least on paper, doesn't really seem to mesh well with Chenoweth's persona. Let's see, an introspective, easily dominated, suicidal schlub? Yeah, that's Kristen, all right.

Hayes comes off somewhat better than Chenoweth, far more natural here than he was as Mr. Applegate in the recent Encores production of Damn Yankees. At the top of the show, Hayes was charming and strong-voiced, but once the plot kicked in he had a tendency to overdo the comedy, pushing harder for laughs, milking the ones that actually came. It was as though he got the (accurate) sense that the show wasn't quite working and felt the need to overcompensate for the lackluster production surrounding him. And in act 2, both Hayes and Chenoweth showed signs of vocal strain.

But it's really not fair to let the stars shoulder the blame here. And it's not that the story isn't strong, based as it is on Billy Wilder's masterful movie, "The Apartment." The characters are sweet and likable, and the libretto features Neil Simon at his jokemaster best. No, the main culprits are the lousy score and flat direction. I've always been a fan of Rob Ashford, mostly for his energetic and frequently humorous choreography. I had heard decent things about his directorial skills, based mostly on his well-received London and Los Angeles productions of Jason Robert Brown's Parade. But I have to say his directorial work here on Promises, Promises is less than impressive. As Terry Johnson so vividly demonstrates with La Cage aux Folles, insightful direction can make even mediocre material come alive. Ashford may indeed have a promising future as a Broadway director, but you'd never know it from watching Promises, Promises.

And then there's the score. Burt
Bacharach's music features pretentious, self-conscious, pointlessly complicated changes in time signatures. And Hal David's lyrics are thoroughly unmemorable. After hearing the songs in context here, it's really no wonder to me that the pair haven't worked on Broadway again. Sure, there are a few moderately passable numbers, including "She Likes Basketball," and "I'll Never Fall in Love Again." (Although, on the latter, Ms. Chenoweth performs what is easily the least convincing fake guitar playing I've ever witnessed.)

But the rest of the score falls into three categories: dull, painful, and ridiculous. In the dull category we have the bland and pointless "Wanting Things." In the painful column, there's "Our Little Secret," "Where Can You Take a Girl?," and "You'll Think of Someone," all of them awkward, tuneless, and egregious in their rhythmic eccentricity. As for ridiculous...well, hello..."Turkey Lurkey Time"? Sure, the number was fun when Michael Bennett staged it in the '60s. (See it here on YouTube.) But Ashford's staging can't hold a candle to that of Bennett, and the song itself is a pointless trifle, both in and out of context.

As if the creative staff knew the score couldn't stand on its own, they've interpolated two Bacharach/David hits into the production: "I Say a Little Prayer" and "A House Is Not a Home." In terms of fitting the context of the show, the songs work just fine. But "Prayer" seems like a throwaway number here, and is lifelessly staged. And "House" serves a strong dramatic purpose in its current context, but is, to my ears, rather dull.

Theatergoers in search of an enjoyable, humorous, heartwarming recreation of an admittedly creaky show should definitely check out La Cage aux Folles. As for Promises, Promises? Meh, Meh.

Sondheim on Sondheim began its life with the unimaginably twee name of iSondheim, and is compiled by James Lapine, longtime Sondheim librettist and director. Lapine wisely opts for a thematic exploration of Sondheim's oeuvre rather than a staid "and then I wrote" format. The songs emerge from video discussions with the man himself, and offer interesting, if somewhat superficial, glimpses into the great man's life and creative process.

For instance, the song "Franklin Shepherd, Inc." from Merrily We Roll Along emerges from a discussion about the breakup of Sondheim's working relationship with director Harold Prince. After Sondheim reveals that he didn't have a serious romantic relationship until he was 60 years old, we get "Happiness" from Passion, which here becomes an amusing bi-curious daisy chain of love, requited and otherwise. And, although many people have assumed over the years that various aspects of Sondheim's work have been autobiographical, Sondheim insists that the only truly autobiographical song he ever wrote was "Opening Doors" from Merrily, which he says was about his early professional experience, as well as that of Mary Rodgers and Sheldon Harnick, during the 1950s.

The video anecdotes feature many of the same tales that Sondheim aficionados have heard time and again. (e.g. How "Comedy Tonight" supposedly saved A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum single-handedly, and how Sondheim wrote at least three different songs for the finale of Company before settling on "Being Alive.") But there are also some interesting and instructive tips on song writing. At one point Sondheim explains the difference between lyrics and poetry: a reader can go over poetry multiple times to find shades of meaning, whereas a song lyric needs to work on a first hearing. The video screens also offer opportunities for apt scenic touches, including footage from the original "Passione d'Amour" movie, and a stunning array of assassination victims (including Harvey Milk and Benazir Bhutto) during "The Gun Song" from Assassins.

The video narration gets a bit ponderous at times, including some rather banal insights about how producing art is like having children, and about teaching
being a sacred profession. But other video moments work quite stunningly, mostly those concerning Sondheim's strained relationship with his mother (who seems a rather horrid human being, at least based on the information in the show), as well as his bond with his substitute paternal figure, the great Oscar Hammerstein. This mother/father sequence features some rather shocking revelations and sweet reminiscences that I won't recount here, but this part of the show alone makes it well worth seeing, at least for the musical-theater faithful.

The cast of Sondheim on Sondheim features an awkward trio of admittedly talented headliners, although it's really not clear how they belong in the same show. Vanessa
Williams was lovely and professional, but didn't really make a lasting impression. I felt rather sorry for Tom Wopat, a talented
guy who here is saddled with the most ill-fitting song choices, including "Finishing the Hat" and "Epiphany," which didn't seem to have sufficient setup or purpose when I saw the show in early previews. Thankfully, the glorious Barbara Cook is always a pleasure to witness. Although her top notes are pretty much gone (hey, she's 82, for frig's sake), she still exhibits remarkable vocal control. Heck, I'll take attenuated Babs over the current crop of screaming Broadway belters any day. As she sang "Buddy's Eyes" from Follies, I took great pleasure when she got to the lyric "I'm still the princess. Still the prize." Yes, you are, Barbara. Yes, you are.

April 18, 2010

Everyone thought it was too soon to bring La Cage aux Folles back to Broadway. Well, perhaps it is, in terms of the financial prospects of the current Broadway revival, which opened last night at the Longacre Theatre. But in terms of artistic fruition, this production represents a considerable improvement over both the 2004 revival and even the original Broadway production.

The Longacre is actually the perfect theater for this production; it's intimate, ornate, pink, and overall just a wee bit louche in its look and feel. What better berth for the Broadway transfer of the well-received Menier Chocolate Factory production of La Cage. What makes this version so appealing is Terry Johnson's smart and emotionally honest direction. Johnson finds the heart of the piece, crafting more believable relationships among the characters. Plus, Johnson seems to have coached his actors to do more than just perform, but to listen as well. (Listen? In musical comedy? What a novel idea...)

Another aid in the production's artistic success is a significantly revised book by Harvey Fierstein, which seems to feature a fair amount of new material, including the scenes and dialog leading up to Albin's first entrance and number. There's also considerably more material for Jacob the butler (well, maid...), played here by the adorable scene stealer Robin De Jesus. (And no, Ben, I'm not just saying that because he's your best friend.) I do have to say that the device of using Jacob as a sort of stage manager, ushering in set changes and linking certain scenes isn't entirely successful.

The Jerry Herman score remains essentially the same. (Much to the delight of the woman sitting next to me, who made it a point to say to me, "I hope they still have the same songs." Um...) They have gotten rid of the throwaway musical sequence "Aren't We All, N'est-ce Pas?," which isn't on the original cast recording. That's fine, but the music remains as underscoring to a rather pointless scene with the denizens of the local cafe.

The dance numbers, choreographed by Lynne Page, are staged within an inch of their lives, particularly the opening. But while the dance numbers are strong, if a bit ornate, the musical staging in the non-dancing numbers is lame. Like, community-theater lame. The reprise of "With You on My Arm" is particularly clunky and joy-deprived. But "The Best of Times" features actual meaningful stage business, rather than just having the cast stare out at the audience and sway from side to side. (In the original Broadway production, even the set rocked back and forth. Even then, 27 years ago and in my musical theater infancy, I knew that such a touch was twee beyond belief.)

Again, the major assets in this production are the relationships among the characters, particularly Georges and Albin, played here by Kelsey Grammer and Douglas Hodge, respectively. Grammer more than earns his place as a musical theater performer, and brings a lovely soft quality to his interactions with Hodge. This was particularly true during "Song on the Sand," although Grammer did have a tendency to flat on extended notes. And "Look Over There" was especially well staged, laying a solid groundwork for Grammer to plumb the emotional meaning of the song.

Hodge, in a rather splashy Broadway debut, is highly mannered, to say the very least, crafting the sort of over-the-top line readings that many actors simply couldn't pull off. But somehow Hodge comes off as both affected and sympathetic. It's quite a delightful feat to witness. Plus, at times he's flat out, breathtakingly hysterical, particularly during the lead in to "Masculinity." Hodge isn't quite the Broadway belter type: he's more a classically trained actor with a reasonably tuneful, albeit wistful, singing voice. But he brings a quiet dignity to "I Am What I Am," making up for what he lacks in vocal power with heartbreaking intensity.

[MINOR SPOILER ALERT for the next paragraph.]

The two performances culminate in a simply yet astonishingly effective tag and the end of act 2. Rather than walking off into the cliche-ridden sunset together, as the characters did in the original production, Albin and Georges here sit quietly together on the stairs of the nightclub and share a simple, touching kiss as the curtain falls. Yes, that's rather obvious, and rather bald-faced in its deliberate manipulation, but, girlfriend, it works. Somehow the fact that this is admitted and confirmed heterosexual Kelsey Grammer kissing another man on-stage -- something that decidedly did *not* occur in the original production -- places a perfect piece of punctuation at the end of a wonderfully heartfelt production.

GRADE: A-(Who knows if it will make money, but the show itself is strong, sweet, and emotionally satisfying.)

I take the name of my blog very seriously, although I will admit there's just a wee portion of hyperbole involved in the title "Everything I Know I Learned From Musicals." But I simply can't count how many times I've figured out the meaning of a particular word, say, or put something into historical context by accessing my knowledge of a certain show.

My high school history classes were a frickin' joke, taught mostly by football coaches and Salesian brothers who didn't know Alexander Hamilton from Hamilton Beach. It wasn't until I got to college that I became even remotely interested in history, but my two courses there focused on world history, not U.S. So, it's no great exaggeration to say that much of my grasp of U.S. history has come from such Broadway musicals as 1776, South Pacific, Ragtime, and Ben Franklin in Paris. And, to be quite honest, the only reason I know that Herbert Hoover was president at the start of the great Depression is...well...Annie.

However, I shall henceforth be able to wax historic about our nation's 7th president, thanks to Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson, which is currently playing a well-received engagement at The Public Theater. As it turns out, Andrew
Jackson was a rather polarizing figure in his day, and remains so. On the plus side, Jackson helped found the Democratic party and doubled the size of the U.S. by strategic land acquisition. On the negative side, he systematically ghetto-ized and decimated the entire Native American population. At one point during the show, the Jackson character, played here by the dynamic Benjamin
Walker, interjects during one narration about his decidedly mixed legacy by saying something to the effect of "Wait, I always thought history would vindicate me." Nope.

The show traffics in parallels, mostly concerning elements in the Jackson administration that seem to presage -- quite eerily, in fact -- our current political climate. Jackson was an ardent practitioner of populism, a form of politics that pits "the people" against "the elites." In the show, Jackson is frequently depicted fomenting anger against the New England intelligentsia. By coincidence, the day I saw the show, Sarah "Africa is a country" Palin was leading a tea-bagger....er...I mean, tea party rally on Boston Common. Jackson is also depicted in a deliberate and continual attempt to
bolster the power of the executive branch at the expense of Congress and
the Supreme Court. (cf. The entire tenure of the Bush administration.) The there's the "stolen" presidential election of 1824, in which Jackson won a plurality of both the popular and the electoral votes. But because no one won a majority, the U.S. House of Representatives stepped in and selected John Quincy Adams as president. (I'll let you draw your own parallels there.)

But, enough about my history lesson. Is the show itself any good? Well, the book and the direction by Alex Timbers are smart, funny, and sharp. Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson has an irreverent, meta presentation style that I, for one, was lapping up. For instance, at one point in the show, Jackson's wife proceeds to "die of grief." When one character balks at this romanticized description, another responds, "Well, it's the 19th Century. That's the sort of shit that happened back then." I have to say that the rest of the Wednesday night audience at the Public seemed rather subdued in its response, but I got the sense that, with an audience that actually smelled what Timbers was cooking, the show would be a veritable laugh-fest.

The show's main liability is its score by Michael Friedman. I read that Friedman and Timbers chose to create the score in the style of "emo rock," a genre I was not familiar with before this show. Apparently, it's a sort of a punk style with supposedly melodic music and a lot of existential teen angst. The show's creators figured this would be the perfect genre for the show, based on their thesis that America was then in its infancy, and now in its adolescence. So what better way to make the musical connection with the collective petulance of the U.S. electorate? Well, I found Friedman's score tremendously unappealing. Perhaps it's just not a musical style that I would ever respond to, but I wasn't a fan of Friedman's work on Saved either. The songs in Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson are serviceable, but never rise above the perfunctory.

GRADE: B(Smart and funny, but not quite exhilarating.Urinetown without the tuneful score.)

April 14, 2010

Sitting and watching the recent Encores
production of Anyone
Can Whistle, it was often difficult to imagine how the original Broadway
production could ever have been a
nine-performance flop in 1964. But it was a flop, and a rather legendary one at that. I think it was Ethan Mordden who once quipped that if everyone who claimed that they had seen Anyone Can Whistle had actually seen it, the show would still be running.

Typically, Encores cuts down the librettos for its shows, sometimes to a detrimental extent, as was the case with Finian's Rainbow and Juno. But in the case of Anyone Can Whistle, they were doing the show a huge favor, paring down Arthur
Laurents' ridiculous, confusing, and self-indulgent book to an absolute minimum, and giving Stephen Sondheim's glorious score a chance to shine.The score contains some of Sondheim's most interesting, moving, and ambitious work, including the soaring ballad "With So Little to Be Sure of," the rousing "Everybody Says Don't," and what is perhaps the best song in the show, "A Parade in Town." Sure, there are some clunkers, including the awkward "See What it Gets You." But one the whole, it's one of Sondheim's best scores, and when you're talking about the big S, that's saying something.

Pulling off Anyone Can Whistle can be a very challenging task indeed, and requires a director with a very sure hand. Fortunately, the folks at Encores brought in Casey
Nicholaw. (Admittedly, Nicholaw's most recent gig was the poorly received and early-closing All About Me, but hey even Fosse and Bennett had their misfires.) Nicholaw brings a fast pace and a consistent tone to the show, and also does a masterful job staging the songs, particularly the two
extended sequences, "Simple"
and "The
Cookie Chase."

Anyone Can Whistle also depends on very strong and appropriate casting choices, and here, as elsewhere, this production did not disappoint. Sutton Foster was her perky, spunky, funny self, and Raúl Esparza was his sonorous, intense, and dynamic self. But as talented as the two performers are, and as well-suited for their roles as they were, they wound up coming off as merely competent in the shadow of the spectacular Donna Murphy. Murphy is not only letter-perfect as Cora, but I couldn't help thinking about the other roles that this amazingly talented woman has mastered, including Fosca in Passion, Ruth Sherwood in Wonderful Town, Anna Leonowens in The King and I, and Lotte Lenya in Lovemusik. Great honk, is there anything this woman can't do? My friend and fellow blogger Kevin over at Theatre Aficionado at Large has called Ms. Murphy "God's gift to musical comedy." I couldn't have said it any better.

A final note: Anyone Can Whistle is certainly a period piece, particularly in its decidedly '60s association of "crazy" with "nonconformist." Someone mentioned to me that Sondheim was speaking at a talk-back for the show and said that, in the original production, they didn't do a strong enough job of making the crazy/nonconformist distinction. I think it's more of a semantic issue. But even if the show *were* romanticizing mental illness, I'd be inclined to cut the creators some slack given that it was written 45 years ago. (I'm a bit less inclined to give certain Pulitzer Prize-winning musicals a bye is this regard. Stay tuned for my take
on that recent, stunning development.)

GRADE: A(What very well may become the definitive production of a deeply flawed but significant show.)

April 12, 2010

Lately, I've been sort of struck by the phrase "not my cup of tea." I've often thought of the phrase as sort of lazy. When people use it, what they really seem to be saying is that they didn't like something, but they don't want to actually do the work to formulate and justify a coherent, supportable opinion.

Then I saw Million Dollar Quartet, which opened last night at the Nederlander Theatre. And I can honestly say that it just wasn't my cup of tea. However, I shall endeavor to provide defensible support for my admittedly personal reaction.

The show met with quite the bell curve of critical response, ranging from a few raves to a few pans to a swell of mixed reactions in between. It's likely that your own reaction to the show will depend on your personal connection to these men and their music. The show is certainly professionally staged and performed, and the
crowd was frickin' eating it up. But I think I would have been a lot
more engaged if I were in any way a fan of the members of the titular
quartet, which I decidedly am not.

Fortunately, the show comprises more than just the jam session itself, otherwise I would have found it unbearably tedious. There's certainly a goodly amount of music, and the four central performers (who also play their own instruments, and quite well, I might add), do a bang-up job of capturing the essence of their respective characters, at least insofar as I'm familiar with these men and their work. But on the whole the show left me with the impression that it was a very professional Vegas tribute show.

Librettists Colin Escott and Floyd Mutrux try to imbue the evening with a decent amount of dramatic tension: Will Sam Phillips sell Sun records to RCA? Will Johnny Cash sign a three-year extension on his contract with Sun? Will Phillips make the leap to RCA to work again with Elvis Presley, whose contract he sold to RCA in order to remain in business? Will upstart Jerry Lee Lewis ever get a chance to record his own songs, or will he continue to play backup for other artists? Will Carl Perkins vent his anger at Elvis for "stealing" Perkins' signature hit, "Blue Suede Shoes"?

Here's the thing, though: I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. And I don't care.

That said, the show is certainly well presented. Director Eric Schaeffer keeps everything moving apace. There's nothing stilted, awkward, or even remotely amateurish about the show. The show's flashback structure is effective, if repetitious. There is some rather clunky exposition, particularly regarding Jerry Lee Lewis' familial connection to Jimmy Swaggart as well as Sam Phillips' then-budding working relationship with Roy Orbison. On the whole, if you're not a fan of these particular iconic performers, there's really no larger reason to see the show. At least not from where I sat.

GRADE: C+ (For fans only. Or for those who can't get tickets to Jersey Boys.)

April 07, 2010

I had heard not-so-great things about the new musical version of The Addams Family from my Chicago blogger peeps, as well as from numerous students and readers. The main complaints seemed to be that the show didn't have much of a plot (and what plot it had seemed borrowed from La Cage aux Folles), that Andrew Lippa's score was bland and unmemorable, and that the show's story was focused too much on irrelevant characters.

When I saw The Addams Family in previews in mid March, the only fix the creative staff seemed to have made was in redirecting the focus of the show to shine firmly on the family. Otherwise, the show represented a reasonably funny but ultimately pointless and undistinguished night of musical theater.

The opening curtain met with a thunderous ovation from the faithful in attendance, mostly because the creators had made the wise choice to fork over the bucks to for the rights to the insidious and iconic theme for the TV show. But there were also considerable plaudits for the show's stars, Nathan Lane as Gomez, and Bebe Neuwirth as Morticia. If only the show itself had been worthy of their admitted collective talents.

It's certainly no secret that the show's directors of credit -- the idiosyncratic Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch (Shockheaded Peter) -- were unceremoniously shunted aside after the show's less-than-spectacular Chicago tryout. Reportedly, Nathan Lane demanded, and got, his old pal Jerry Zaks to come in and punch things up a bit. The main contribution of the "directors" seems to be the show's design concept, which features a modular set of staircases, which are fun to watch the cast move but ultimately distracting.

The show also features an ingenious mobile curtain setup that almost seems like a character itself, and provides some visual focus to the scenes as well as physical coverage for set changes. There's also a rather elaborate visual setup for a second-act number in which Uncle Fester (the always wonderful Kevin Chamberlin) proclaims his amorous attachment to the moon. But designers as directors? Have we learned nothing from Julie Taymor? Much like The Lion King, The Addams Family comprises some interesting visual elements, but not much in the way of dramatic cohesion.

The book by Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice (Jersey Boys) features some fairly frequent laughs, and some of the jokes are quite sharp and topical. But it's not clear how much of that may have been the work of, or at the urging of, uncredited director Zaks. The result is a bunch of decent one liners connected by a contrived plot lacking any engaging or believable drama, and saddled with forced complications and pat resolutions. In brief, the Addams daughter Wednesday comes home and announces that she's going to be married, and that Gomez and Morticia had better be on their best behavior when the future in-laws come to visit. Needless to say, havoc ensues. ("The best of times is now. What's left of summer but a faded rose...")

What's more, the story represents an unconvincing morass of forced subplots and lame narrative conceits. Bebe Neuwirth is saddled with what is probably the least interesting and justifiable narrative thread. During the entire show, she frets about growing older. And that's just about it. Bebe gets a couple of would-be showstoppers, including a
tango with Gomez, but they weren't working when I saw the show in
previews. Otherwise, she just frets. I'm not a huge Bebe Neuwirth fan (I've heard too many stories about how she treats her cast members and production staff), but there's no question she's a talented woman who deserves better than what she gets in this show.

As for narrative conceits, at the start of the show Uncle Fester raises the Addams ancestors from the dead, only to tell them that they can't return to the
grave until love triumphs. Really? In a musical about the Addams
Family? Cuz, other than the fact that dead people are involved, that
seems about as far from an Addams Family conceit as you'd be likely to
devise. Plus, it's just not very interesting or compelling.

Besides its flat, jokey book, The Addams Family is saddled with decidedly undistinguished songs from Andrew Lippa, who wrote the Off-Broadway The Wild Party and a few new songs for the revival of You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. The Addams Family score features one lackluster, stop-and-sing, solo character song after another and not nearly enough ensemble work. The procession grows wearisome, indeed. The one fun tuneful number, "Full Disclosure," comes at the end of Act 1, by which time I had sort of given up anticipating anything of real distinction musically. Choreographer Sergio Trujillo seems to work overtime to give the show some life, but his style here is more MTV than Charles Addams.

As I said, there's considerable merriment to be had at the Lunt-Fontanne, particularly in the performance of Nathan Lane as Gomez, but also from the always hysterical Jackie Hoffman as Grandmama. The show seems to be selling like gangbusters so far, with weekly grosses well above $1 million. But will that continue after the reviews come out? Does this show have enough of a built-in audience, based on its stars and its source material, to make it review-proof?

April 06, 2010

No sooner did I receive my CD of the current revival of A Little Night Music than I also received a request from someone to share the MP3 files. The request was from someone on a site for cast-recording collectors. He sent a link with all of the titles in his collection, offering to
make a trade.

I have no intention of even replying to the email, but it did put me in mind of a conversation I had recently with a fellow blogger about how PS Classics, the company that released the A Little Night Music CD, is perilously close to going out of business. And that's because people like my fellow OCR aficionado aren't willing to actually pay for the music that they listen to.

So I dug through my blog archives for this post, which makes my position on file-sharing quite clear. Let me me painfully blunt: file-sharing is selfish, stupid, and short-sighted. And it's stealing. If we're not willing to buy cast albums, then there won't be any to buy. If you download commercially available cast recordings that you haven't paid for, then you're no friend of mine. I don't even want you reading this blog. Go listen to your stolen music. But just remember that you're putting small, struggling companies out of business, and that you're jeopardizing the very future of cast recordings themselves.